ing, gone at once
like wildfire. When Maxwell pleaded that they did not know what wildfire
meant she declared that it meant an overwhelming house and unbridled
rapture in the audience; it meant an instant and lasting triumph for the
play. She began to praise Godolphin, or, at least, to own herself
mistaken in some of her decrials of him. She could not be kept from
bubbling over to two or three ladies at the hotel, where it was quickly
known what an immense success the first performance of Maxwell's play
had been. He was put to shame by several asking him when they were to
have it in Boston, but his wife had no embarrassment in answering that
it would probably be kept the whole winter in New York, and not come to
Boston till some time in the early spring.

She was resolved, now, that he should drive over to Beverly Farms with
her, and tell her father and mother about the success of the play. She
had instantly telegraphed them on getting Godolphin's despatch, and she
began to call out to her father as soon as she got inside the house, and
saw him coming down the stairs in the hall, "_Now_, what do you say,
papa? Isn't it glorious? Didn't I tell you it would be the greatest
success? Did you ever hear anything like it? Where's mamma? If she
shouldn't be at home, I don't know what I shall do!"

"She's here," said her father, arriving at the foot of the stairs, where
Louise embraced him, and then let him shake hands with her husband.
"She's dressing. We were just going over to see you."

"Well, you've been pretty deliberate about it! Here it's after lunch,
and I telegraphed you at ten o'clock." She went on to bully her father
more and more, and to flourish Maxwell's triumph in his face. "We're
going to have three hundred dollars a week from it at the very least,
and fifteen thousand dollars for the season. What do you think of that?
Isn't that pretty good, for two people that had nothing in the world
yesterday? What do you say _now_, papa?"

There were all sorts of lurking taunts, demands, reproaches, in these
words, which both the men felt, but they smiled across her, and made as
if they were superior to her simple exultation.

"I should say you had written the play yourself, Louise," said her
father.

"No," answered her husband, "Godolphin wrote the play; or I've no doubt
he's telling the reporters so by this time."

Louise would not mind them. "Well, I don't care! I want papa to
acknowledge that I was right, for on